Out of the mouths of babes...
Numbah One Son likes to complain--and if you have a seven year old at some nearby point in your life's arc, this phrase will be familiar--that something or other "just isn't fair." As a grownup you are reminded on an hourly basis exactly how unfair everything is. This tale of woe and unfairness meanders a while, so you best go and get a soothing beverage for yourself and return quickly; I'll wait.
Ah. Good.
Our tale begins around 1970. It was a year in which I expressed much hope for the future, having waved goodbye and good riddance to the 1960s. I was, of course, a fool. While the 1960s were like A Bad Neighborhood, the 1970s would prove to be the equivalent of a gang-infested housing project. But I didn't know that at the time, I was only six years old. Part of the reason for my optimism was that I started making choices for myself. One of those choices was in breakfast cereal. The breakfast cereal of choice was the eminently superior "Quake." Quake's archrival was Quisp and, while Quisp made a yummy bowl, Quake provided earthquake power to help me bore right through the grueling demands of a first-grade day.
But in 1972, it was decided the children of America should vote on whether Quisp or Quake should remain on the shelves. In the first disillusionment with the political process of my life (I was too young to remember 1964) Quisp won and Quake lost. Sure, there were all sorts of irregularities...Quisp supporters arrested with thousands of Quake boxtops in the trunk of their cars, Walter Cronkite announcing on the eve of the voting that Quisp would handily win, and so, why bother?
The 1970s proceeded slowly, turning into a ghetto of a decade with abominable music and equally loathsome fashions, and a young man's thoughts turned to young (to a greater or lesser degree) women. Quake was forgotten, and so was Quisp; and several young women were equally forgotten (even more were forgettable) and to make things very fair, many young women forgot me. The lamentations today fall on deaf ears, Suzy Reynolds and Debbie Tash. But I digress.
Anyway, tempus fugit, and it is now approaching the time to turn 40. Or, at a bare minimum, for me to turn 40. I organize JoeFest, whereby I celebrate my birthweek. Family, friends, loved ones and people who are friends of my wife stream in from various sections of these here United States. Among those whose schedules will not permit them to make it, is my friend, the lovely and gracious Jen.
Jen, beyond being lovely and gracious, is a connoisseuse par excellence of pop culture. Still, she has the good grace to forward along a little gift nonetheless. This gift was a slim volume from Hallmark Books entitled "Do You Remember...?" and it is GUARANTEED to give memory whiplash to anybody born after 1946. In its pages resides a photograph about Quisp. I show this to TFBIM, whose parents forbade such cereals in their home on account of...well, I'm not sure why. Suffice it to say my beloved was reared among stiff-necked, strict, toast-and-caffé latte* folk and cereals had no appeal for her, save for learning to pick off the berries from Cap'n Crunch Crunchberries in her early college years.
Having regarded Quisp (and Quake, its far superior--albeit more obscure--rival) as wildly apocryphal, she now shrugged her shoulders. Not in the disbelief of yore, no. Now she shrugged them in disinterest. But wait, our narrative gathers steam.
It being Tax Season, TFBIM is up to here with work, and has left me alone with the lads many a night. One night, when I was feeling particularly slack AND generous, I announced to those whom I have offsprung that I would be making pizza from scratch and that we would eat in front of the TV.** Being the raving idiot I am, I put on [the] Food Network to watch one of the best TV shows around: Good Eats. Following Good Eats is another called Unwrapped, and it takes you behind the scenes of how they make Twinkies, or how the Banana Split came to be, etc.
This particular episode had to do with breakfast cereals and lo and behold, featured prominently is Quisp. Quake gets a passing mention, but Quisp gets the lion's share of the focus. It turns out that Quisp is STILL in production and available "in selected markets" and also via the Internet. One of these selected markets is a place called "Cub" in Chicago.
It is bewilderingly unfair because my pal Poppy--she whose blog is linked, and she who is on the short list of people to whom I'd donate bone marrow...by far the most exclusive club to which she belongs--lives in Chicago and she has some history with Quisp. In fact, she may have taken advantage of Boston's notoriously corrupt ward system to stuff ballots on Quisp's behalf. The point is: should she desire to avail herself of the manifold Quispy goodness that is the cereal in question, all she need do is go to and pick up a box. Furthermore, she's FROM Boston and returns there with some frequency...coincidentally home of the "Star Market" where Quisp may also be found available for immediate purchase. All of these things point to nefarious work.
And still no news of Quake.
-J.
P.S. Later on I will find out whatever happened to the other members of the Count Chocula family.
* In Spanish, café con leche. It's an Iberic thing.
** Something we never, ever do. (What? Never? Hardly ever.) This is a special treat.
Ah. Good.
Our tale begins around 1970. It was a year in which I expressed much hope for the future, having waved goodbye and good riddance to the 1960s. I was, of course, a fool. While the 1960s were like A Bad Neighborhood, the 1970s would prove to be the equivalent of a gang-infested housing project. But I didn't know that at the time, I was only six years old. Part of the reason for my optimism was that I started making choices for myself. One of those choices was in breakfast cereal. The breakfast cereal of choice was the eminently superior "Quake." Quake's archrival was Quisp and, while Quisp made a yummy bowl, Quake provided earthquake power to help me bore right through the grueling demands of a first-grade day.
But in 1972, it was decided the children of America should vote on whether Quisp or Quake should remain on the shelves. In the first disillusionment with the political process of my life (I was too young to remember 1964) Quisp won and Quake lost. Sure, there were all sorts of irregularities...Quisp supporters arrested with thousands of Quake boxtops in the trunk of their cars, Walter Cronkite announcing on the eve of the voting that Quisp would handily win, and so, why bother?
The 1970s proceeded slowly, turning into a ghetto of a decade with abominable music and equally loathsome fashions, and a young man's thoughts turned to young (to a greater or lesser degree) women. Quake was forgotten, and so was Quisp; and several young women were equally forgotten (even more were forgettable) and to make things very fair, many young women forgot me. The lamentations today fall on deaf ears, Suzy Reynolds and Debbie Tash. But I digress.
Anyway, tempus fugit, and it is now approaching the time to turn 40. Or, at a bare minimum, for me to turn 40. I organize JoeFest, whereby I celebrate my birthweek. Family, friends, loved ones and people who are friends of my wife stream in from various sections of these here United States. Among those whose schedules will not permit them to make it, is my friend, the lovely and gracious Jen.
Jen, beyond being lovely and gracious, is a connoisseuse par excellence of pop culture. Still, she has the good grace to forward along a little gift nonetheless. This gift was a slim volume from Hallmark Books entitled "Do You Remember...?" and it is GUARANTEED to give memory whiplash to anybody born after 1946. In its pages resides a photograph about Quisp. I show this to TFBIM, whose parents forbade such cereals in their home on account of...well, I'm not sure why. Suffice it to say my beloved was reared among stiff-necked, strict, toast-and-caffé latte* folk and cereals had no appeal for her, save for learning to pick off the berries from Cap'n Crunch Crunchberries in her early college years.
Having regarded Quisp (and Quake, its far superior--albeit more obscure--rival) as wildly apocryphal, she now shrugged her shoulders. Not in the disbelief of yore, no. Now she shrugged them in disinterest. But wait, our narrative gathers steam.
It being Tax Season, TFBIM is up to here with work, and has left me alone with the lads many a night. One night, when I was feeling particularly slack AND generous, I announced to those whom I have offsprung that I would be making pizza from scratch and that we would eat in front of the TV.** Being the raving idiot I am, I put on [the] Food Network to watch one of the best TV shows around: Good Eats. Following Good Eats is another called Unwrapped, and it takes you behind the scenes of how they make Twinkies, or how the Banana Split came to be, etc.
This particular episode had to do with breakfast cereals and lo and behold, featured prominently is Quisp. Quake gets a passing mention, but Quisp gets the lion's share of the focus. It turns out that Quisp is STILL in production and available "in selected markets" and also via the Internet. One of these selected markets is a place called "Cub" in Chicago.
It is bewilderingly unfair because my pal Poppy--she whose blog is linked, and she who is on the short list of people to whom I'd donate bone marrow...by far the most exclusive club to which she belongs--lives in Chicago and she has some history with Quisp. In fact, she may have taken advantage of Boston's notoriously corrupt ward system to stuff ballots on Quisp's behalf. The point is: should she desire to avail herself of the manifold Quispy goodness that is the cereal in question, all she need do is go to and pick up a box. Furthermore, she's FROM Boston and returns there with some frequency...coincidentally home of the "Star Market" where Quisp may also be found available for immediate purchase. All of these things point to nefarious work.
And still no news of Quake.
-J.
P.S. Later on I will find out whatever happened to the other members of the Count Chocula family.
* In Spanish, café con leche. It's an Iberic thing.
** Something we never, ever do. (What? Never? Hardly ever.) This is a special treat.
Comments
Obviously, Count Chocula is still around. Frankenberry likewise, even though it's not so prevalent. Boo Berry requires some search, but may be located. Fruit Brute and Yummy Mummy are nowhere to be found.
To close the loop, I must admit to having made my very earliest nutritional choices based on the endorsement of the Jay Ward studios.
Yes, I am frequently THIS pitiful.
1. I have a link to the Quisp website on my food blog's page:
www.theattackofthefiftyfootcasserole.blogspot.com
2. I own a LE Quisp watch.
3. I don't need to go to Cub Foods or Star Market to purchase Quisp because I can find it on the shelves of much more local grocery stores.
4. How many boxes you want me to send?
--P.
2- No need to rub salt on the wound caused by the LE Quisp watch.
3- Just bring one down when we see you in (wow!) about a month.
-J.
P.S. I deleted this comment the 1st time it came up because of all the appalling typos. Appalling even for me.